


Mr. America and His Hawk

by thelastcenturionismylove



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:22:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastcenturionismylove/pseuds/thelastcenturionismylove





	Mr. America and His Hawk

The archer draws back, aims and releases. As planned, the arrow hits its target with impeccable precision and speed. Barton feels a mixture of guilt and pride as red puffs of fire start trailing behind the plane's busted tail. The machine tips downward and Clint anxiously waits for a parachute to be deployed. He looks at, watches and sees nothing. The failing mechanical bird dives dangerously close to the ground, and then it crashes behind the evergreen trees of the forest and black colors rise and there is no one around to witness it except for him. That plane shouldn't have been here, he thinks to himself. He runs towards the giant pillars of smoke forming in the sky hoping that he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his life.

_Three months earlier_

Clint's not a traitor. Everyone looks at him like he is one though. There are whispers floating back and forth that Loki never took full control of his mind. And now, every SHIELD worker seems to be asking Barton the question "How could Loki tell you to attack the Helicarrier when he was locked in a glass cage and under our nose?" He can't answer. He can't remember for Christ's sake. When he tells them that he doesn't know, they smile and walk away. Then the next day, the whispers become louder and he can feel all of their dirty looks burning behind him.

After another week of this bullshit, Barton decides he can't take it anymore and goes to cool off at the training room. He's hitting at a speed ball with his bare fists when Steve walks in the room.  
"Whoa. You're going pretty fast there. Take it easy," he says. He's worried that Barton's knuckles will split open if he keeps going at that rate. Clint stops beating up the speed ball and then looks over at Rogers, who is dressed up in his full uniform and readily equipped with his vibranium shield. Now that the world isn't coming to an end, Clint can't suppress a slight grin.  
He walks over to the super soldier and asks, "Is it Halloween already?"  
Steve blushes. "I-I didn't know what I should wear on my first day."  
"You work here now?" Clint says. Steve nods his head in response. "Great," Clint's relieved to have someone on the team that doesn't doubt his intentions every two seconds. Even getting coffee for someone seems to have the workers raising their eyebrows at him nowadays. "So, uh, how have you been, Cap?"  
"Alright. I was in art school for a few weeks but that wasn't working really out for me and, um, I served in Afghan for a little bit. Well, I say serve but some doctors diagnosed me with PTSD before I could do any real fighting." Steve looks sad. Clint's eyes widen a little and he goes into a brief panic attack. He is the absolute worst at comforting people.  
Hawkeye stands in silence until it kills him and then he says, "We could do some fighting now, if it'll take your mind off of it."  
"You sure you can take me?"  
"Yeah," Barton's not certain when he answers, but there is no way he is going to back down from a man in tights.  
Steve throws the first punch unexpectedly. Clint dodges at last second and is barely able to land up straight on his own two feet. He is stumbling back when Steve comes in with a low kick. Barton can't save himself this time and he falls to the ground. He picks himself up and grins. "Alright. That was good."  
"Maybe we should save the battling for the bad guys," Rogers suggests with a hint of concern for Clint's health.  
"Nah, it's okay. I could use the practice," Clint points out as he hops from one foot to the other. He curls his fingers into a fist and extends his arm forward. Instinctively, Captain America protects himself with his shield and Barton ends up smashing his hand on cold metal. He bites down his lip, making sure not to swear in front of the poster boy of all things good. "Actually, I think you're right. Good job, Cap," Barton grunts in between his winces of pain. Steve looks especially horrified.  
"Your hand," he blurts out. The marksman looks down at his right hand and sees that it is dripping in blood.  
"Oh, I'm bleeding," he states calmly. Rogers looks at him like he's crazy.  
"You need treatment.. Now," he says. He grabs the archer's forearm and drags him to SHIELD's therapy rooms. As they walk down, Rogers continually glances at Barton and repeats that he'll be okay. Clint stares down at the blood and just hopes that his hand isn't broken. He doesn't like the idea of not being able to use his bow and arrow for too long.

Steve brings Barton to a room with battleship gray wallpaper and a small white medical bed and chair in the corner, along with a side table and trash can underneath an empty medicine cabinet. "Sit down there," he points Clint to the bed. "I'll be back soon," he assures the injured man and then disappears in the corridors. He returns with bandages, cotton balls and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He puts the bandages on the table and starts to douse the cotton balls in the alcohol.  
"Shouldn't a nurse being doing this or something?" Clint wonders.  
"Don't worry. The army trained me to heal minor injuries. I know what I'm doing," he explains as he cleans up the wound.  
"So my hand's not broken?"  
"No; thank goodness. For a second I thought that I had caused some real damage back there." Steve curves his lips into a relaxed smile as he throws away the cotton balls. He gets the bandages from the table and starts to wrap Barton's hand. He does this job meticulously causing the other man to fidget around a bit, but it only takes a few words to get him to stop. When Steve is done, Barton examines his hand and is pleased with the work Rogers has done.  
"Thanks, Steve," he says as he gets up from the bed.  
"You're welcome, Clint," Steve expresses.  
"Call me 'bro'."  
"You're welcome.. Bro," Steve repeats in a strained and awkward tone.  
Barton laughs, "I'm just kidding, old man. Clint's just fine." Steve looks a little embarrassed. As the archer approaches the door, he wears a bright smile and says, "Next time I won't go so easy on you."  
Steve smiles back and then admits, "I look forward to it."

Clint walks alone to Nick Fury's office to present his laceration to him. He peers into the room to see that he is talking to Miss Hill. Barton taps on the open door with his good hand and interjects, "Knock, knock." He enters as he asks, "Guess who has got a present for you?" He reveals the bandaged fingers to his boss and the other SHIELD member.  
"Work related or personal?" Maria blandly questions.  
"Well.. Both, I guess. It was just training," Clint begins but is interrupted when Hill hands him a piece of paper.  
"Practice is classified under work related injuries. Fill out this by tomorrow," she orders. Then she directs him out of the room and shuts the door behind him. He's about to leave when he hears murmurs coming from the other side. He presses his ear gently on the door.  
"Fury, Agent Barton's actions just proof my point. He's a reckless man and a dangerous one," he hears.  
"I appreciate your concern, Maria. I'll think about it."  
"Good." The door opens and Clint almost tumbles back. Maria just walks right past him and avoids eye contact.

The rest of Barton's day doesn't go very well. He fills out the sheet of paper and gives it to Fury, who promptly sends him back home and says he should take "a few days off". Clint tries to tell him that the injury isn't that bad and that Captain America patched it up pretty well, but he doesn't listen. Barton returns to his apartment angry and upset. He spends the rest of the day watching old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  
It's sometime around eleven o'clock when Natasha Romanoff walks into his apartment. She has been away in Estonia for two months now, so Clint is more than happy to see her; so happy, in fact, that he doesn't even bother to wonder how she got in without her keys.  
"Nat! What are you doing here?" he beams as he stands up from his couch.  
"I'm here to check up on you. Maria told me you hurt your hand," she announces in a monotone voice.  
Clint's about to take offensive from Nat's attitude but then he remembers that she is always like this and he's back at ease. "It's fine; it should heal in no time. But what about you? You need some food?"  
"That's alright," she responds. Barton sits back down and Natasha comes over to join him. She looks at the T.V. "Buffy? Really, Clint?"  
Barton's mouth is half full of Doritos when he mumbles, "What?" He gulps the rest down and finishes, "It's a good show." Romanoff takes the bag away from him.  
"Have you been eating these all day again?"  
"No," he lies. Nat picks up an empty bag from the floor and laughs. "Okay.. So you got me."  
"Seriously? What do you do without me?"  
"Jack off for the most part."  
"You're gross," she insults as dumps both bags on the ground and pushes Barton down on the couch.  
"The worst." He brushes his lips up against Natasha and then she kisses him back. They make out like that for a while and then Natasha lets Clint spoon her and watch more Buffy episodes. Barton cuddles her and thinks for a brief second that things are going to get better for him now that his best friend (with _glorious_ benefits) is back. The thought is nice and seems perennial until Romanoff lifts herself from the couch.  
"I should go now," she says.  
"No... Stay," the man pleads sleepily.  
"I can't. I shouldn't have even come here in the first place," she confesses. Now more alert, Barton raises himself into a sitting position on the couch.  
"What are you talking about?"  
"It doesn't matter. Just, it's best right now if we don't talk anymore. Goodbye, Clint," she ends and before any protest can be made, she's out the door. Barton thinks about following her, but knowing Romanoff, he decides that the safest option would be to stay put. Still, he doesn't understand why she would leave like that and it bothers him to an uncomfortable degree. Barton lies down on his couch and tucks his knees close to his chest and lets Buffy continue on in the background as a tear makes its way down his face.

When it's two o'clock the next day, Steve texts Barton, asking where he is, but Clint's still sleeping in his dark purple hoodie and black pajama pants at this time so he gets no response. After work, Rogers makes the choice to head to his friend's apartment. To his dismay, he is greeted by a wasted Hawkeye.  
"Hey, Mr. America's here," he slurs slowly and then falls on top of Cap's shoulders.  
"Clint," Cap shrieks as the other individual slips into black drunkenness. 

Barton wakes up to a distressed pair of blue eyes and then he realizes that Steve is hovering over him. He adjusts himself up and Steve sits back down in a chair he has pulled over to the side of Clint's bed. "How long have you been here?"  
"A few hours," he answers. Then, "Are you, uh, okay?"  
"I'm a little hungry," Clint croaks. Steve gets up and makes two turkey sandwiches. He comes back with them and a tall glass of water. He hands Clint his meal and Barton greedily starts to eat while Captain America leaves his plate untouched.  
"Do you need me to buy you more food?" he finally asks. "All you have is toaster waffles, Special K Chocolate Cereal, oranges, vodka, Chinese take-out food, Doritos, and these sandwiches."  
"That's all I need," Clint speaks through his bites.  
"I can take you out for some Brooklyn style pizza some day if you'd like," Rogers proposes. Clint agrees and then asks him if he is going to eat his sandwich. "No, you can have it." He hands it to Barton who quickly sinks his teeth into it. Steve giggles and Clint tries his best to hold back a burp as he reaches for the glass of water. He washes his food down and thanks Steve for taking care of him. He says it's no problem.

The following morning, the Captain is back at SHIELD and Barton is left all alone again.  
Later in the day, Clint thinks about Maria. He thinks about her and how she is out to ruin his life. He thinks about her in the kitchen, in front of the T.V., and in his convertible, headed for SHIELD headquarters at forty-five miles per hour.  
He enters the building and walks past reception. He has an agitated pace that switches between quick shuffles and slow strides. He turns the corner when he sees Miss Hill heading down the hallway. He calls for her and she doesn't turn back to look. He sprints next to her and repeats her name to her. This time, she stops walking, turns to Barton and says, "Hello, Clint. Shouldn't you-" Maria is unable to finish the rest of her question because Barton clocks her right in the face with his still recovering hand. She falls back and her shoulder cracks against the wall. She's on the ground with a bloody nose when she screams, "Someone arrest that sonofabitch!"  
Clint hears her wails of pain as he rushes down the corner. Five agents are chasing his back and four bullets almost hit him before he gets back into his car. It's still running from earlier and he makes a quick escape. His car swerves out on the highway and that's the last anyone ever sees of him.

Steve finds Maria with red smeared across her upper lip. He extends out his arm and lifts her frail body up. "What happened?"  
"Barton has gone crazy!" she shouts and rips her hand away from Steve's grip. "Fury will hear about this." She turns away sobbing. Rogers still doesn't know what's going on. He calls Clint's cellphone but he doesn't answer. He checks in his apartment and he's nowhere to be found. He asks Natasha where he could be but she can't answer. It's pitch black out three months later when Steve finally loses his cool and steals SHIELD's Beechcraft T-6 Texan II.

_Today_

That plane shouldn't have been here, he repeats. He makes his way between burning bits of the plane to see if there are any survivors. He coughs, "Hey! Is anyone there?" No response. He is hacking and the smoke envelopes every shape around him and now Clint's vision is compromised. He can't see a thing in front of him until a small flicker catches his eyes. He staggers over to a small locket and he opens it up. There's a faded picture of a pretty girl with short hair. On the left corner, in neat cursive, it reads "Peggy Carter - 1943". Clint takes the picture out of the locket to examine it closely, but then he realizes there is a second picture tucked in the locket. He takes it out and realizes that it's a drawing of him. In the same corner, in the same writing, it reads "Clint Barton - 2013. Don't let this one go".


End file.
